


You Gave Me The Word

by smothermeinrelish



Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles
Genre: 1960 Liverpool, Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bohemian lifestyle, Bookstore AU, Brian Epstein wasn't a good guy, Character Death, Coming of Age, Friends to Lovers, Homosexuality, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, McLennon AU, Mention of the Holocaust, Mentions of WWII, Mutual Pining, Mysterious Stranger - Freeform, Older Paul, Paul & Julia have a past, Period-Typical Homophobia, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Teddy boy John, beat poets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smothermeinrelish/pseuds/smothermeinrelish
Summary: After the sudden loss of his mother, John struggles for guidance.  He’s lost his creative inspiration which helps him cope with a constant internal struggle.  Faced with the unaccepting world, he turns to self destructive behavior.When a mysterious older stranger from his mother’s past offers him friendship and comfort, he needs to learn the truth.  Including the tragic history of love lost and what the world holds for people like himself.
Relationships: Brian Epstein/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Julia Lennon, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Robert Fraser/Paul McCartney, Thelma Pickles/John Lennon
Comments: 25
Kudos: 51





	1. Half of What I Say is Meaningless

The world was a cruel place.

She had been the light in his life, a shining beacon for when it all came crashing down on his shoulders. He was never a real part of her life but she would always be his home. Except now she was in a box.

Flowers covered the coffin, pale lavender and white like sleeping doves. Those types of flowers that festered a perfume that lingered with the burning candle wicks in the sanctuary. No one expects their forty-year-old mother to die, least of all the way Julia went. Run over by a drunken cop, the bastard.

He was getting on with all the steps a young man of nearly twenty did—going to university and moving into a flat with mates. That had been his biggest accomplishment in recent months. Everyone assumed that he was a perpetual fuck up, this was his way to prove them wrong. She’d had faith in him, even bought him a kettle for his flat. Just the way a mother should fuss over her baby bird leaving the nest.

That was until this life-altering event happened one week ago, destroying all of him. 

He’d never make it now. A lost soul meant to float above his earthly body unhinged from the rest.

“John.” Mimi stirred his head resting on her shoulder. “It’s time to go now.” 

As he stood up, the numbing sand slid down his legs. He was supposed to be strong, the ‘man’ of the family to support his aunt and sisters in their time of grief. He was none of those things. A coward clinging to Mimi’s blouse sleeves soaked with his tears. The too-small wool suit suffocated his body as it restricted his long strides into pathetic shuffles, echoing across the stone floor. Stoically remaining upright, it took all his strength not to crawl on his hands and knees.

Through the blur in his eyes, he made out the shapes of those seated in the pews. She’d had many friends, a joyful personality that attracted everyone to her. He’d been told how alike they were, down to his mannerisms and features. The realization that these friends would never see her again made his stomach lurch.

Swallowing hard, he saw the dark stranger at the back of the sanctuary. 

The man sat close to the aisle, pale hands delicately cradling a rosary. Young, but his soft face hardened from similar grief, it seemed. He turned his head at the exact moment John needed; face holding him for a brief moment in time. The eye contact was very surreal in the instant that their minds connected, almost telepathically. 

_ I see you and I know. _

Whatever wave of consciousness between them shivered all the way down to the heavy soles of his shoes. As he proceeded out of the church into the waiting automobile, his fogged mind hiccupped with wonder. That had been the first stir of emotion within him since the tragic accident. 

At the graveside, there were only a few of them. His sisters at each side, crying into their monogrammed handkerchiefs. Children without a mother. Suddenly, he felt like he shouldn’t feel so lost and alone without her. After all he was grown, Julia and Jackie were kids. One thing for sure, as they lowered the casket into the black soil, at that moment he felt like an orphan.

  
  


+

He never understood the ritual of feeding the masses and welcoming the gruesome spectators into one's home after a person died. It seemed almost as if to fulfill the morbid curiosity to snoop into how they were living without the deceased around. John hated it when his uncle died, and now to have Mimi host it again, he really couldn’t be fucked with pretending to be okay.

Sitting in the sun-filled bay window of his old bedroom, he smoked incessantly. Bits of paper sketched upon in distracted scratches. Ugly characters with hunchbacks and crooked teeth mocking him while he watched the parade come and go from the house. 

Drinking the last gulp of his tea, he fetched the small flask engraved with his uncle's initials. Loosening his tie and unbuttoning the pinching collar, he drank down the warm liquid and lit another cigarette. It was a beautiful day, rare in the city, but it was July so it was to be expected. He should take a walk to clear his head but was cemented to his perch atop his lookout.

Head hanging low while he walked through the garden gate, John’s eyes knew it was him, even before he’d put on his glasses. Struggling to pull them from his pocket, he peered through the smudged lenses. He got a clear picture of the top of the raven-feathered hair before it disappeared under the awning and into the front door. Curiosity in him wanted to meet the stranger, look into his eyes again and understand the cosmic occurrence at the church.

_ Do you feel it? _

In the end he stayed put, not able to muster the energy to try and feign interest about the bizarre encounter. Legs pretzeled up like a meditating swami, he let the numbness wash over him. Head pressing against the lead glass pane, his mind flashed to the pale, lifeless form on the sterile table. The patterned chiffon of her dress, stained with blood that had trailed down from her temple. Lifeless eyes fixed up to the fluorescent bulb above the table, like heaven’s beacon shining upon her. 

With a gasp and uncontrolled sob, tears fell again. He’d thought there were none left, until they traced hotly down his flushed face. His calloused fingers had aggressively wiped them away, as if he should be embarrassed for crying. Northern men didn’t cry. You weren’t allowed to be sad or visibly ache from the pain of loss thrumming through you. For that reminder, he had sobbed harder. 

He knew he was soft, the thoughts had swarmed his mind in recent years. Unrelenting with remorse and shame as to what that made him. He was relieved she would never know that side of him, the questionable deviances that could imprison him . All his life he’d been kept hidden away like an accident that was never to be talked about. 

No, he couldn’t. 

Already causing her a bad reputation by being born, he wouldn’t expose the side of himself that even he wasn’t sure of. 

When he regained composure, the murmur of voices leaving the home gave him pause. Peering down from the window, the stranger emerged. Trailing behind a couple in black, he wore a navy pinstripe suit, jacket slung over his shoulder with a pocket watch on a chain visible in his vest pocket. The heat of the day must have made him pause to roll up the starched white sleeves of his shirt. Carefully putting his cufflinks alongside the pocket watch, he studied the space around him, squinting in the sunlight. John watched him intently. Lean, cosmopolitan, and seemingly out of place in Woolton.

Walking out the garden gate, he stopped to light a smoke. Turning towards the house he spotted John up in the window and bowed his head in a nod of acknowledgment. Through the clarity of his glasses, John saw all of his facial features. Those eyes that had spoken a thousand words glanced to him once again, heating his face with insecurity. How was this unknown individual intimately analyzing him with single acts of decency? 

Before he could stop his actions, his palm desperately splayed against the glass pane, heat from his hand leaving a vapor outline. With a reciprocating action, the man gave a crooked exhale of smoke with his pink mouth and waved with the cigarette between his long fingers. John bowed his head, looking away just so, to see the man in his peripherals continue to walk along the pavement.

Just like that, he was gone.

  
  


+

Days following the funeral, his concentration faltered. It had become easier not to get out of bed and avoid his studies. Stuart, his flatmate, had tried to some degree to motivate him.

“Look, I know it’s hard and I don’t know what words to say to comfort you, but you really need to get up and take a bath. Maybe eat something. I made you a cuppa.” John rolled into himself, making a tighter ball and ignoring his friend’s words. After a few more moments of silence, Stuart left him to his own devices.

More time had passed. He’d managed to attend a class or two, enough to show his instructors that he was still alive, though the shell in the seat was little more than a warm body and a pulse. There was pity given, kind words of understanding and support to inform him that he could take the time he needed to turn in assignments and attend lectures as he felt comfortable. Once again reminding him that he was pathetic in his ability to maintain.

One rainy night after a group study session he barely contributed to, he decided a drink was in order. Only not in the usual pub where other classmates were carousing about. He needed a discreet place, somewhere he could be alone with his misery to drink into a numbing oblivion. The sky was hazy while the humidity from the sea churned the air into something thick. Pressure in the wind blowing, causing the inner need to be frantic in the dangerous atmosphere.

There were places for men like his sort. Seedy and grimy where a certain glance from across the pub could mean you wouldn’t be alone for long. Darkened alleyways provided a backdrop for anonymous trysts; it was dangerous, but there was no other way. After weeks of sorrow, he just needed to feel alive again.

Near the city center and docks, John found himself in the cozy hovel of a back booth, eyeing the clientele with his newsboy cap pulled down low, lest anyone recognize him. He drank whisky, burning his throat with each hot sip down his gullet. The haze of the drunk was hitting him faster than usual after days of improper nourishment. 

Tonight he’d let a stranger take care of him.

The night progressed with more alcohol, alone. When a muscular sandy-haired sailor with blue eyes asked him to join him outside for a smoke, John’s wobbly legs strided eagerly to the door.

A light rain had begun to fall, and for it being somewhat early in the night, John’s mind was spinning. He propped his hand against the alley bricks, needing stability as his mind dizzied from the drink and hunger. His arms clumsily reached for the attractive man, mouth searching.

“The fuck ya’ think your doing?!” His lips only had a moment to graze the cheek of the sailor before he was flung against the wet brick wall. The air knocked out of his lungs.

“I-I thought…” 

“You wha’? Thought I was a poof like you? I saw ya’ eyein’ up me mate in there!” Harder than his words was the fist the sailor planted into his face.

John buckled in agony, his body slid to the pavement. Only a second passed before the kick to his hip struck a nerve sharply enough to emit a moan. “Please, stop—I’m sorry!” He tried to cover his head, absorbing kicks to his torso.

“Fuck off, you filthy queer!” The blows finally stopped as John tried to scurry out of the alley. At the sound of the side door slamming, he knew his assailant had left him.

The alcoholic stupor had saved him from the full severity of his injuries. He stood up as best as he could; the bruises would be worse in the morning. Stumbling down the cobblestone, he tasted the blood dripping down his throat. Wiping the metallic warmth from under his nose, he could barely focus on where his heavy legs were leading him.

Rain had begun to fall harder, the sky cracked above with thunder. Looking at his surroundings, all sense of direction was skewed. Stumbling into a courtyard with a fountain in the center seemed like the best place to take a rest and analyze his injuries. When he collapsed down on the wet stone, he mentally assured himself,  _ “...only going to rest my eyes a moment.” _ As the wet droplets washed over his face, he closed his eyes and fell into a deep blackness.

+

A vibrating hum thrummed in his chest, it was warm and soothing as he woke. The grey light of day was the first thing he saw through high windows as his swollen eyes adjusted to the painful illumination. Blinking at his surroundings, he was met face-to-face with a large, sleeping marmalade tabby. 

He was on a settee, propped up against white pillows. A knitted afgan enveloped his body. As he struggled to move, the pain from the previous night’s assault shot through him.

“Argh, fuck—” The pain in his back took his breath away.

“Careful, don’t move too quickly.” A soft, melodic voice cautiously came from behind him. Taking a few deep breaths to gather the strength to get up, the cat on his belly jumped down to the floor. Through his foggy vision, a blurred body rushed in with tea and set a mug down in front of him on the table. The figure moved close, hand gently touching the top of his head. The connection instantly soothed his nerves.

“You’ve got quite the bump, I cleaned you up the best I could, but you should take this.” John had yet to see the kind man’s face, but he placed some tablets into his open palm. “This is aspirin, it’ll help.” In the same gesture, he was blindly handed a glass of cool water.

“Thank you.” John gulped deep, feeling the bruising on his face twitch. His vision was not improving, and he came to the conclusion that his glasses were probably long gone after the debacle. The man must have seen the squint on his face, for it was if he had read John’s mind.

“Here, these were in your coat pocket.” As the thick frames slid onto the bridge of his nose, everything came into clear view. Like when Dorothy opened the door to the Land of Oz, John’s vision technicolored when he came face-to-face with his caretaker.

It was him. 

Under a completely different circumstance, he would have let the anxiety push him into making an off-hand comment. In the light of this morning, however, John was completely tongue-tied. At least his condition could be blamed on his lack of voice. Surely the man recognized him too? As the seconds of silence and observation continued, he took in all the features he could decipher. That same soft hair that was a bit long for a man of his age. 

What was his age? He looked older than himself, yet not the same age as his mother’s acquaintances. A million words cluttered his mind, right on the tip of his tongue. He was opening his parched mouth to respond, but the man beat him to it.

“You’re Julia’s son, aren’t you?” He sat on the table right in front of John, and all his pain had subsided as he nodded in agreement. For a brief moment, they stared at each other, studying the atmosphere before John spoke, voice cracked and worn.

“I saw you, at the church.” He didn’t blink as he spoke.

The man smiled in that slightly crooked grin, “And I saw you in the window.” 

“Right. Afterwards...” John’s head dropped, looking at his clammy hands in his lap. As if it was the most normal thing to him, the man placed his hand on John’s blanket-covered knee.

“I’m very sorry for your loss. Julia was, er- is an incredible soul. I shall miss her dearly.” 

When John looked into his eyes, he saw the genuine hurt on his face. All too soon the warmth of his hand was gone.

“How did you know her?” 

Taking a sip of tea, he spoke, “It had been many years since we had seen each other, but we were good friends as kids. I’m Paul by the way.” That same hand extended in the casual gesture.

“John.” He shook the pale, spindly fingers, wanting to absorb the touch.

“Well, John, might I ask what happened? I come out of my shop after closing and I see you bleeding all over the courtyard. Did someone attack you?” 

His obvious concern for his well-being made the truth even less palatable. 

_ ‘I’m a filthy queer who picked up the wrong lad and got his lights knocked out.’ _

“No, nothing like that.” John moved, feeling as if he should make some effort to leave before he outstayed his welcome.

Paul gently helped him up, hand supporting his bicep as he lifted him to stand.

“Here, I’ll help you to the loo.” The touch on his skin burned; John needed to get out of there.

“Thanks, I’ve got it.” He pulled away and wandered out of the room towards the adjacent hall.

The space was eclectic, books stacked on shelves that lined all of the walls. Framed oil paintings and photographs were pieced in throughout the open table tops and crown moulding. Oriental carpets were plush under his feet as he saw the cracked open door of the water closet.

Closing the door, he turned on the faucet and let the water warm run while examining his face. 

The curly tufts of his hair hung wildly over his forehead. It was obvious the bruising across his nose had flowed into the dark purple circles under his eyes. Although he was sore, the swelling was minimal—nothing broken, except his pride. He washed his face, as delicately as possible, before he readjusted his wrinkled clothes and made his way back to the living quarters. Paul was not around, but he heard some plinking around in the kitchen nearby. 

Walking into the galley, he saw him buttering a slice of toast.

“Please, sit down and have something to eat.” 

“If it’s all the same, I’d rather just be on my way. Thank you for your hospitality,” John replied with a nod.

“Oh, alright. You sure you’re okay? I don’t have a car, otherwise I’d offer you a lift—”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“I’ll have to walk you out, the exit is through the store.” Paul pushed past him and led him through another odd hallway down narrow stairs.

As he unlocked the door, John was further confused as he stepped out into a maze of books. 

Tattered and yellowed bindings lined the walls of cozy nooks with wingback chairs, perfect for inviting the scouring reader to sit and enjoy. The shop was small, but smelled like a cozy autumn breeze with the spice of the leather and pipe tobacco fresh in the air. If John wasn’t so adamant about getting away from his attractive savior, he’d have stuck around and asked more questions.

When they made it to the front door, Paul unlocked and opened the rusty hinges, bell ringing akin to those of a horse drawn sleigh. He hated to leave, this enigmatic bookstore had him intrigued. More so than the man whose presence after a few quick encounters had given him some internal questions about life. Now wasn’t the time for the answers he yearned for. His embarrassment of the entire situation made him grateful for the fresh air of the open courtyard.

“Thank you again, Paul, for everything. I’ll see you around, I’m sure of it.” With a half-hearted shrug, John ran a hand through his hair and walked with hurried strides without a glance back to acknowledge Paul’s departing gesture. After he was mostly out of the echoing courtyard, he turned to see the dark figure still standing in the shop door, waving. 

“Rigby’s Booksellers” the sign above the shop read. Perfect. 

Not only was the dangerously handsome man going to continue to haunt his thoughts, he owned a bookstore that was a common hangout for Art School students. Even Stuart had spoken of the shop when it hosted poetry readings and literature events. This just made the possibility of running into his new infatuation all the more possible during the upcoming school term when his writing classes would begin.

For whatever reason, the fates were aligning their paths. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You Gave Me the Word: playlist


	2. When I Cannot Sing My Heart

By the time he arrived back home, his flatmate was out. Probably at class considering it was a weekday. The time leading up to Julia’s passing had found him a focused student writer, diligently sitting in lectures and penning words at all hours of the day and night. From silly poems about couples meeting on the shore of the river for snogging in the dark to long-winded prose of anguish and agony when another fleeting romance dribbled away like cold tea down the sink drain. It was always easier for him to project his feelings into words on pages, not express them out loud to others. 

His mind was ‘beautiful’ was what she’d told him, not more than a few days before she left this earth. He’d written something he’d wanted his mother’s opinion on before sharing it with its intended audience. Julia had been saddened by the poem he’d created, 

_ “How can you write of such sorrow at your age?” _

_ “There’s plenty of sadness in our lives, Mum.” _

_ “I suppose there is, just try to find the good as well, alright, luv?” _

The piece was about having to hide your love away. Something that Byron and Keats didn’t have to consider when they rambled pages to their sweethearts. John had felt affection for women, it had just never felt completely right.

Thelma was a good friend, one that had an underlying understanding of John. The real John. He’d written the poem for her, knowing she’d understand. They’d met through friends and maintained an on-again off-again persona that didn’t make for a lot of questions in their group dynamics. Oh, there were times when loneliness needed remedying and she was a warm body in the throes of pent-up hormones, but there was mutual respect. The conversations had never been black and white, yet she knew his true nature. Deep down, he had felt she perhaps too was in a similar situation with her affections to the same sex. 

The fact that they all attended the Arts College and were in the crux of a new decade filled him with liberal promises of what was on the horizon. Beatniks and poets circulated around the growing younger crowd in the city, bohemian minds wide open. Being in the quagmire of creativity and expression should be influencing him on all levels of his life, not holding him back..

Cranking the hot water of the weak shower, he’d get some comfort from washing off the dried blood and bruised pride from the night before. If only he could curb these unnatural needs. At times the reckless desire to be touched felt so heavy, he’d be convinced his lungs would collapse under the anxiety. Even now, alone in the apartment, he needed the release that had been building up inside for weeks.

Towel wrapped around his waist, he made a direct path to a bookshelf in Stuart's room. Heavy-bound works of art references for the fellow painters, but John knew of one in particular he was on a mission for.  _ Figure Drawing _ was the unassuming title, but inside held photographs of young men and women in positions for reference. Hurriedly skimming through the book, he found the photograph he was familiar with.

A black-and-white silver gelatin print taken at the turn of the century of a young man wearing a crown of olive leaves. The pose in the makeshift studio was supposed to appear as a Romanesque statue. Sleek angles of muscles flexing in the thighs and buttocks of the model, his prick hardened instantly at the seductive nature of the photo. The boy's eyes were soft, downturned with a pouty bow of a mouth, complete with shiny black, thick ringlets framing his cherubic face. Many times this image saved John in his loneliness and need.

While he stared with awe at the photo reference, he began to think back to his chance meeting with Paul. The gentle tugs at his cock under the towel had him fantasizing at the similarities between the erotic material in the art book and his new infatuation. For that, he tugged harder, pulling the desire with his tightened fist. As his fingers clenched around the book, he closed his eyes and pictured the handsome stranger touching him. How good it would be to be held, pulled close and caressed, as if he was the most precious lover Paul could have. 

His breath fell in rapid rhythm with his hand’s ministrations. Deep in his spine he could feel the crest building up before he let a moan strangle in his throat. A rush of warmth spilled over his fingers, blinding him with pleasure beyond words. 

John’s heart was aching from his release and the pathetic clarity he’d seen behind his closed eyes. Never would he be able to receive the love he desperately craved, the vicious cycle of self-pity and shame was the only thing he could feel anymore.

+

It took two nervous cigarettes and a pull from his flask of gin before John had the courage to enter the store again. He’d avoided another confrontation until his face had properly healed. When Stuart asked him about the injuries, he’d managed a lie about getting jumped outside of a pub. With a suspicious eye, he’d dropped the subject. 

John hadn’t said a word about the recent presence of Paul. Or how he’d been a fixture in his mother’s life, and now his own…which sounded like a bizarre, fucked up twist of fate. If John was assuming, he figured his mother and Paul had been lovers. They were roughly the same age, and it wasn’t a secret that his mum had had her fair share of gentlemen callers. Hell, Paul was attractive now in middle age, he couldn’t fathom how attractive he’d have been in his younger years. And therein lay the problem with the entire situation.

The gentle chime of the shop door sent a shiver of nerves down his back. No turning back now, he’d have to confront this savior in an unthreatening and grateful way.

As he looked around, he didn’t see anyone behind the cashier’s desk, only that fluff ball of an orange tabby napping on a stack of reference books. Stepping further inside the cozy space, soft jazz music played from a distant corner. Turning into the farther expanse of the shop, he saw a few patrons drinking tea and reading periodicals on a large mahogany table. 

John really could see himself spending quite a bit of time in the shop. It seemed like the perfect place to lose himself for several hours. Since there was no sign of the man he came looking for, he started to meander through the shelves of books. Instantly he came to a shelf of some of his favorite authors. Lewis Carroll’s stories had brought him great comfort over the years of strain with his home and family life. Perhaps this was a sign to revisit the standbys that were the best therapy for his mind.

Sneaking up behind him, the presence surprised him.

“Afternoon, sir, can I help you find anything in particular?” The happy, sing-song voice was burned into his brain. 

John stumbled with the book in his hand, resliding it onto the shelf. “Hello, um, no thanks I’m just browsing.” He swallowed thickly, mouth somehow parched from the cigarettes.

“Oh hello, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. How are you doing?” Although he was holding several books in his arms, he smiled at him and that damn flutter in his belly stirred again. His eyes were so friendly, like a comforting hug from an absent acquaintance. He couldn’t explain it any other way than being stunned. Reciprocating the smile, John’s heart felt warmed by his presence. 

“I’m much better, thanks. I actually came by to apologise for my behavior before. Leaving in such a hurry, I wanted you to know how much I appreciated your charity.” He spoke with confidence, but ran a hand through his thick quiff in a nervous gesture.

“Psh, it wasn’t charity, it was humanity an’ anyway, you’d have done the same for me.” Paul nudged him with his elbow, which John finally took as a hint and began to take a few of the heavy books from his load.

“Here, let me help you with those.” 

Paul led them back around to the front, onto the desk where the sleeping cat still lay. “You can set them right there, next to Rufus.” Setting the books down, John saw that Paul was clearly focused on a task.

“I—er, I like your store,” he tried, in an effort to keep the conversation light and moving.

“You do? Thanks, I’m quite proud of it.” Paul rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing dark hair on his muscular forearms. “Are you at University? I’d say most of my customers are of your age, but I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” He spoke with John as if they’d been friends for years, putting him at ease.

“I’m enrolled at the Art Institute, creative writing is my emphasis actually.” He shrugged as he absentmindedly petted the lazy cat.

“Oh, then you’ll be having some lectures with Robert Fraser, he’s a good friend of mine who teaches there. You know, hang on a sec’—” Paul looked around his desk area as if he was missing a lost piece of a puzzle. Squatting down on the ground, he brought up a stack of canary yellow paper fliers and squinted at the print on the paper—an advertisement. “Have you heard of this fellow? He’s reading some of his ‘Beat Poetry’ on campus. The student center is having a mixer here afterwards, you should come.” 

Paul looked up and held his face with that endearing smile. 

“Good ol’ Royston Ellis? Yeah actually, my flatmate and him are pretty close. I was planning on going to this. Will you be there?” It was an invitation, not as subtle as he could have been.

Now Paul was the one who was taken by surprise it seemed. He visibly swallowed at John’s inquiry. “I’m not familiar with his work.”

“You’d like it, he’s got grit. A bit like Kerouac and Ginsberg only, ye know…not American.” At John’s explanation, Paul chuckled. “I’ll explain the symbolism to you if you get confused,” he added, wanting more than anything to see Paul again.

“Oh thanks for that!” Paul nudged him again and crossed his arms in a comfortable stance. All the while, John stroked the now stirring cat, eyes cast down.

“Sure, that’d be a bit of alright. Should I meet you there then?” Coming off a backhanded way of accepting, John’s knees nearly buckled at the confirmation. When he looked up, Paul’s eyes were kind and bright with swirls of green, completely captivating.

“Sounds nice. I’ll see you Saturday.” John was blushing, but he hoped it was lost on the warmth of the late July afternoon heat. 

“Saturday then.” 

Still unsure of where his confidence was coming from, John left the bookshop in the courtyard on a high note. Grinning ear to ear, he’d felt the best he’d been in ages. 

The days leading up to their next interaction went slowly. John had productive moments of creativity, words spilling out of his fingers faster than he could get them down on paper. He realized he was inspired. The grief and pain that hung in his belly stopped his ability to find the right words, now they were coming around again. He knew it was because of his new friend, his chance meeting with this person who shared a tie with him. For the moment, he was going to use the emotion as the fuel he needed to persevere.

+

_ Easy, easy, _

_ break me in easy. _

_ Sure I’m big time, _

_ cock-sure and brash, _

_ but easy, easy, _

_ break me in easy. _

_ Sure they’ve been others, _

_ I know the way… _

  
  


John sat side-by-side in the auditorium with Paul and he felt it. The electric closeness he sensed in those stolen glances, it was palpable. Taking every fiber in his body to control his fingers not to brush over the other man's jacket sleeve. Paul was captured by Royston’s words, his innuendos and presence in the echoing space had him focused and John was worried. 

Most of the attendees of this performance knew about the beat poets. The bohemian lifestyles that hold an appeal with nonconformity and free thinkers. Perhaps Paul was uncomfortable that he’d been brought into something blindly, unknowing that the man spouting prose was a known bisexual. Unashamed and living his life like he didn’t care because he didn’t care. John wondered if he knew about him, the guilt he was carrying like an illuminated sign above his head.

There was a break between performers and John wanted to make an excuse, apologize to Paul for bringing him here, but as he turned to speak, Paul whispered, “This is wonderful. That last one…,” Paul’s hand raised to his heart, “so much truth.”

It was when he said that, John’s mind went into overdrive. Could it be there was the same understanding of Royston’s words that resonated with Paul? The deviances that plagued John’s mind and desires could also afflict Paul. No wedding ring, no touch of feminine presence in his home, the brief time he’d spent there. It was possible that Paul was like him, could relate to him. That was wishful thinking, a path he couldn’t let his heart go down.

“Yeah, he’s really something,” John agreed. When Paul crossed his legs, the rise of his trouser leg flashed a pale, boney ankle. John stared longer than he should, ideas swelling in him of his lips tracing over the jutting protrusion. The whisper thin skin over the area where his tongue would glide before continuing up the long length of his calf muscles. John exhaled, blinked away the image and readjusted in his seat to give extra room between their bodies.

Paul glanced at his wristwatch, “I need to get back before the mixer begins.” A burst of their happy bubble had John standing up with him to let him out to the aisle. “See you soon?” His eyebrow raised at the inquiry.

“Right, be there a bit later.” John nodded, and took a reserved seat back down; he didn't watch him leave the venue. Instead, he scanned the room, eyes squinting behind his thick black frames until he found Stuart and the others. He stood up and meandered through the hall to sit with his mates. The lights flickered to announce the next performer and John settled into a free seat next to his flatmate.

“Who were you sitting with, just then?” Stuart asked, absentmindedly scanning the program. “Ah, no one, he’s an old friend of Mum’s. Ran into him in the lobby.” John shut it down before Stuart could ask more.

+

Not to seem eager, John agreed to go to the pub for a few pints before they went to the afterparty at Rigby’s. Settling his nerves with a few more pints than he should have, he was slightly drunk and aware that he didn’t want to be in this state when he saw Paul again. Thelma was there, happily drinking her cider next to him, when her palm traced up the cream corduroy of his trousers.

“How ye been, Lennon?” 

A loaded question because surely she knew how it had been in recent weeks. Her own mother died a few years back. 

“I’m fine.” He said it like it was true, and before he could gulp the final swallow of his amber ale, her mouth was on his neck. 

“Let me know if you need anything from me,” she whispered into his ear, lip brushing over his lobe. He couldn’t get up fast enough towards the bar for another drink. The last thing he wanted was the pending sex he’d have to perform with her if they stayed close this evening. 

He found Stuart and proposed they all head over to the mixer. Approvals hummed as the group of them all scattered out the door to the bookshop.

+

The hour had gotten late, and even with a store full of co-eds and professors, John only had eyes for Paul. He’d been subtle, mingling and talking with others while they sipped cheap red wine and ate cheese and biscuits. Something about the way Paul socialized had him enamoured. He was charming, animated and flirtatious with all of the people that took time to speak with him. Although he’d been cordial to everyone, there was one person that seemed to capture most of his attention and it wasn’t John.

Robert Fraser was the good friend Paul had mentioned, staying close by his side. John felt the jealous snakes in his gut squirm while he watched the two of them. He drank faster, which was a dangerous game that had got him in trouble in the past. There were only a handful of people left, and it was getting to be the time to move on. Before he could refill his glass, Royston and Stuart approached him.

“Wanna head back to Gambier? Ellis’ got some hashish we’re going to smoke an’ then paint.” As John was setting down his empty glass, Paul had shuffled over to his side. Uninhibited by wine in his waistcoat vest and loosened tie, he looked very good. 

“Gentlemen, the after party is happening upstairs if you are interested in joining us?” 

John saw that smarmy Fraser and a red-headed woman hovering near the door to the upstairs flat, consumed in their own conversation. Before he could say what he wanted, Royston spoke up for all of them.

“Ta, McCartney, that’ll be a bit of alright. Say, do you get high?...” 

Like a prisoner heading to the execution block, John followed the group upstairs for closer confines in Paul’s presence.

  
  


+

John was laughing like a madman, the giggles hadn’t stopped since they smoked a spliff of that hashish Royston passed around. He felt alive as they all fluttered around the room listening to very loud rock ‘n’ roll records spinning on the player. They were dancing together, twirling and twisting—all hands connected in a safe and positive environment of bright colors and warm light. 

For the first time all evening, he wasn’t worried about what Paul was thinking about. He had decided that he couldn’t let the weird feeling inside of him spoil the party. He was young, at this juncture in his life he had all he needed with his good, familiar friends and new, interesting ones. In the sweaty air of dancing, Robert rolled up the sleeves of his crisp dress shirt and John saw it…the tattoo of blurred numbers. 

It scared him for a brief second. One moment they were feeling free and happy, then an imprint of reality for people Robert and Paul’s age glared, blinding John into sobriety. 

You didn’t talk about it, you couldn’t ask about it, you just knew. He had been in those camps. Suddenly his opinion of the man changed, he didn’t feel jealous. He felt terrible.

He needed a drink of water, taking himself away from the small group laughing in the room. As he went into the small galley kitchen, he shuffled through cabinets for a glass to soothe his dry throat. He heavily gulped the cool liquid, then heard another enter the space.

“So you’re Paul’s little friend.” Robert had a bottle of wine in his hand, the sweat on his brow apparent of his intoxication. The patronizing words hit John like a slap across his face. 

“We’re acquaintances,” he muttered through clenched teeth. 

Robert closed in nearer, pressing John into the countertop space, crowding him in. Loudly he set the bottle down and roughly cupped his hand to John’s cheek. The stale breath of him had John’s stomach curling like the fists at his sides.

“Hmm, you do have beautiful features. Skin like cream and nectarines…” He chuckled to himself at his silly rhyming words, like he was so clever. John’s breath caught in his throat as the man leaned closer, licking a sour tongue over his cheekbone. Struck by his boldness, John leaned his shoulder in to keep the intruder apart. His effort was wasted as Robert’s hand aggressively groped John’s flaccid cock through his trousers.

“Come now, I want to see what all the fuss is about.” When he squeezed tighter, John pushed the drunk man off him hard enough to send him to the floor. Suddenly he was aware that Paul was in the room hovering over Robert who was laughing like a loon on the ground. 

“What’s going on in here?” he asked as he helped his friend up from the floor. John was seething. Whatever Paul thought he saw, he wanted to explain what really occurred, but his mouth knotted, words malfunctioning.

“Oh, dear Paul, I’m afraid I’ve had too many spirits. Would you call me a lift?” Robert played up the fall, pretending it had been the alcohol that put him in this predicament. 

Paul eyed John, seeing how he was remaining quiet with a hand still clenched at his side. He nodded to him as if he understood John’s plight. “Sure thing, Robert. I’ll walk you out.”

After they left the kitchen, John retched into the sink. Liquid burned his throat as the unwanted touch was fresh in his mind. His legs felt wobbly as he lowered himself to the floor, the warmth of tears tingling his eyes as he heard the others still laughing and unaware just outside the door. 

Minutes passed as Paul was back in the kitchen, door closing behind him for privacy. He lowered himself to kneel down in front of John. Respectfully he didn’t touch him, but his busy hands over his thighs let John know that he wanted to extend a comforting gesture.

“I saw what happened, John. I’m so sorry.” He looked at John with pleading eyes and seemed scared by what had transpired in his home. 

John wanted to get up to leave the mess that the night had turned into but felt weak and sick suddenly. Trying to stand, the wave of nausea overcame him. He turned and gagged into the sink. Twisting on the water to wash away the embarrassment on his face, he stated, “I’m not feeling well.” 

With a brace of his arm across his lower back, Paul guided him out of the kitchen. Down a dark hallway away from the noise of the others, he opened the door to a bedroom. Soft light from a stained glass lamp pooled into the cool tempered room where he guided John down to sit. Paul faffed around the room, slightly tipsy from drink and substance himself, but he managed to get a soft blanket for John.

“Lie down for a bit, you’ll feel better.” John shifted up to lay down as the afgan was covered over him. Paul sat down at the foot to untie John’s shoes, an action that caused him to laugh a bit at his own helplessness. “Laughing at my charity? I see how it is.” 

Teasingly, Paul grabbed his ankle, giving John a jolt in his abdomen. It felt good to be touched. John wanted his hands to move higher, wrap around him and hold him, but he knew that could not be.

After he’d settled, Paul moved up to the head of the bed to take off John’s glasses and set them on the nightstand. John’s hand reached for his wrist, gripping it. Not tight, but more as an indication of  _ don’t leave me. _

Paul looked at him. Unwavering, stunning with his messy hair hanging in his eyes, and everything just slowed down. Eye to eye, they had an entire conversation with the swirls of color between their line of vision. John’s hand was still holding on as Paul brought a soft hand to cradle under his jawline. The tension was palpable when the rough pad of Paul’s thumb skimmed over the damp skin of his lower lip. With bated breath, John parted his mouth slightly. Aware of Paul leaning in closer to him, John could smell him—spicy and clean as his tongue brushed over the tip of his digit. The sigh that escaped him was suppressed arousal, John could tell that they were both teetering on a dangerous edge.

_ “…what all the fuss is about.” _

Robert’s words came back to him with sobering clarity. Paul had spoken about him, and now alone with the man, it’d be so easy just to do something.

“We can’t.” Paul’s face dropped at the finality of his words. At the same time the warmth from his hand was gone from John’s face. The want was mutual, the realization stiflingly clear that what was happening between them wasn’t only in John’s imagination.

He didn’t say anymore before he was standing up and walking out of the room. John’s head spun as he lay back into the down pillows surrounding him. The rate of his heart slowed back to a normal pace as the darkness of the room soothed him. Once again he was in this man’s home, a stranger to him. Yet, he felt safer here than anywhere else right now.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: [@smothermeinrelish](https://smothermeinrelish.tumblr.com)
> 
> [You Gave Me The Word: Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5KbQ4tebFWOlwqWDJ9BUOp?si=V5WUsArORkijbgnm8Is0EQ)


	3. You Had Me, But I Never Had You

“You didn’ tell me your mum’s friend owned Rigbys,” Stuart broached over tea and toast a few days after the night of the gathering at Pauls. 

“I wasn’t aware he was, I only just met him.” John kept his eyes reading over the day old newspaper while Stuart flitted around the kitchen.

“Well, I like him. You know, he’s the only proprietor selling banned books in the city. If you’re looking for something rare, he can find it,” Stuart said as he hand-washed his dishes in the sink. “I’ve actually got to drop in to pick up something, you want to tag along?” Drying the mug with a tea towel, he turned and looked at John still sitting at the table.

At Stuart’s invitation, John hesitated. He thought back to the morning after, when the first streams of light had shone through the windows. Next to him, Paul had been curled up, still in his clothes from the night before. There had been a valley of space between their bodies, with numerous blankets and pillows in the crevice. He’d suddenly remembered the words from the night before and stopped himself from reaching out to touch his peaceful, sleeping face.

_ “We can't.” _

“Oi, did you hear me? You coming or not?” Stuart repeated, snapping him out of his trance.

“Yeah, sure, hang on, let me get my bag. I’ve got to head to Mimi’s afterwards.” John had promised his aunt he’d come by to pick up some of Julia’s personal items that Bobby and the girls had dropped off. He’d avoided the request for a few weeks, but with a short week of classes, he no longer had an excuse. At least he’d be fed a good supper.

“Ta, Lennon.”

  
  


+

Each time John visited the shop it got easier to stay, familiarity within the walls that housed such important words. Today it was busy with students and foot traffic alike. When they arrived, Stuart spotted a fellow classmate.

“Afternoon, Cyn, how are ye?” 

“It’s a bit mad in here today, word got round that we have copies of that new D.H. Lawrence novel, and it’s been absolute pandemonium!” she said with a stack of books in her arms.

John had a few classes with her, but he’d never made much effort to get to know her. “You work here?” 

“Only on occasion, Paul handles it mostly. I help when I can. He travels a lot to buy up inventory, so I work more when he’s away. Besides, someone has to care for Rufus.” She nodded to the cat that had made its way over to nuzzle against John’s denim-clad leg.

Crouching down to the animal’s level, John patted and scratched his jowls as Stuart and Cyn continued to chat. He proceeded to eye the shop in search for Paul; not that he was hoping for another encounter, but it would make the trip worthwhile. 

When the man walked out of a back room and over to a waiting customer, his heart quickened its pace. Something about the way he walked and carried himself had him aching a bit in his reality that couldn’t be. Handsome and lean in black trousers and a light blue shirt, tie tucked into a sweater waistcoat. John was staring unabashedly. 

Trying to keep his attention focused on the cat, he picked up the animal to hold in his arms. At that same moment, he was abruptly met with that familiar voice:

“Oh, hello, gentlemen.” Although he was talking to them both, his eyes were looking directly at John. He swallowed hard, giving Paul a polite nod.

“Cyn was saying you got in  _ Lady Chatterly’s Lover  _ and suddenly all the lonely housewives are flocking here?” Stuart laughed a bit at the observation.

Paul smiled and said, “It just shows you there are plenty of deprived people in this world.” At his statement, the others chuckled, but he and John remained locked in their unflinching gaze. 

He wondered if Paul remembered what had transpired the other night. Or if the consumption of substances left him aloof to their brief touch in the bedroom. He didn’t want to bring it up, didn’t want to pretend there was more to Paul and him than truly existed. Forever to keep it forgotten, kept tucked away as another reminder to what life should be for men of his kind.

By now, Stuart and Cyn had walked towards the register to pick up his new art book that had to be ordered. This left the two of them in a moment alone. To avoid awkwardness, John spoke first.

“Thanks for letting me stay the other night, probably should start paying you a bedsit fee.” He shrugged his shoulders and put Rufus down on the bay window ledge. 

“I wouldn’t hear of it. Besides, I like the company,” Paul assured, blushing. Maybe it was exertion from the pace of the store, but perhaps he really did enjoy John’s company.

“I like your company too,” John stated, looking right at him.

“—Hey Paul, there’s a sculpture exhibit opening tonight, are you and Robert going to it?” Stuart’s presence cut through the warm aura of their moment together, causing John to break away a bit to be out of the conversation. The way he spoke about them as if they were a pair. Just the mention of that other man’s name instantly gave him a bad taste in his mouth.

Equally caught off guard by the invitation, Paul answered, “Er, um, I don’t know if I can make it this evening.” A hopeful look in his eyes, he nodded at John. “Will you be there?”

“No, not tonight. I’m off to my auntie’s in Woolton. Promised to help her with a few things. In fact…,” he glanced at his wristwatch, “I need to catch the bus, so I’ll be seeing you lot around later.” 

He limply waved to his friends and left the bookshop, Paul’s gaze still on him as he stepped out into the cloudy courtyard. 

+

A steady drizzle had begun to fall before his stop, which made the last five minutes of the walk damp and slightly chilly. He rang the bell to no answer. Making his way around the back door through the garden, he used the spare key under the mat. All of the lights were off, save for one above the stove. On the table, there was a note.

_ John, _

_ Called away to volunteer with the Auxiliary ladies. Won’t be home until late. Dinner’s in the icebox. The photos & scrapbooks are in your bedroom. Love you, Mimi _

So much for a home cooked meal. 

Trudging upstairs with a fresh cup of tea containing too much sugar, he decided to tackle the reason for his visit. The small box contained a few photo albums and some books. Upon closer inspection, his baby book was mixed in among the bound mementos. The small albums he flipped through held memories of trips he vaguely remembered. A day in Blackpool when his parents had bought him a cowboy hat and he ate taffy until he was sick. Visits to Scotland to see his cousins. Mostly mundane activities that had ended after he permanently moved in with Mimi and Uncle George.

He gulped down the warm tea as a roll of thunder carried on outside; it was raining heavy out now. Picking up a pale blue tattered book, he opened the creased paper pages. It was a scrapbook holding the remnants of pressed flowers crumbling within the front cover. The photographs of his mother were very old, long before she’d had him. There were pictures of her with her school friends, young and happy. John had never seen these before, it was almost as if he got a glimpse of her before his dad had gotten involved and instigated the downward spiral.

Within the yellowed pages were ticket stubs, as well as paper adverts of plays and performers. Nestled between the binding, a folded pink envelope tumbled out onto his bed covers. John set the book down to study the contents inside.

Two black and white pictures from a photobooth and a letter inside gave him a sudden pause. The first picture was one of his mother laughing, toothy and genuine. In the blurred image a dark-haired man kissed her smiling cheek. The pose was innocent, one done in fun with her hand in motion, blurring the hidden man’s face. The second photo made his heart drop into his stomach.

_ It was Paul.  _

Staring straight into the camera lense, his mother appeared to be sitting in his lap. There was no mistake; although he was a very young man, it was him. With trembling hands, he turned the photographs over, examining them for writing.

_ “J & J March. 1940” _

John’s mind was reeling, a shiver ran down his back. What did this mean? Had they been lovers? By that time of her life she was with his father, he was sure of it. Alf had left to join the Merchant Navy, but there was no mistake John was Alfred Lennon’s son. 

The folded piece of notebook paper with the pictures called out to him. Nerves tight, he lit a cigarette and began to read the neat, faded penmanship:

_ Dearest Julia, _

_ Made it to London and secured a job helping at a book printer. Unfortunately, (Or Fortunately!) I did not pass my physical exam for the draft. ‘Arrhythmia of the heart’ was the doctor’s diagnosis! Oh, but I will survive.  _

_ I hope this finds you well. Perhaps after the child is born, I shall come back to visit and we can all go to the theatre. Best wishes to you _

_ \- Forever xxoo James _

_ \- P.S. Found these photos, I kept the other two... _

Staring at the picture for longer than he realized, he was absolutely certain it was Paul. Whoever this “James” person was had him puzzled. He paced his room, rereading the letter to the point of memorization. Rather than continue to speculate, he looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was still early, he could confront him—go to the shop and ask him for answers. Which was exactly what he did.

+

  
  


By the time he rode back to the city center, his back pocket burned into his skin from the photographs and letter. Rain-damp tresses fell in his eyes while he hovered outside and thought carefully of how he could approach this. 

Paul was on a ladder stocking shelves, miles above and unaware, until he looked out the window to see John staring at him in the rain. With a stunned expression, he climbed down to meet him as John roughly opened the door and entered.

“Who the fuck is James?” blurted out in a rush of words, and he didn’t even care if a customer heard him.

Paul looked around the small shop, occupied by only one other patron immersed in a book at the reading corner, unaware of the disruption. He guided John by the elbow to the furthest corner with periodicals stacked from floor to ceiling to muffle their voices. John knew his hysterics had flustered the store owner, but he needed answers.

“This—” John pulled out the pictures and wrinkled letter, holding them within inches of Paul’s eyes as he squinted through his reading specs. He delicately took the images from John’s trembling fingers and flipped them over, reading the scrawled writing.

“Looks to me you were more than just an ‘acquaintance.’ So what is it then?” Inches away, he wanted answers. And yet in his urgency, he noticed for the first time how equal in height they were. For Paul being significantly older, he appeared healthy. A bit of gray hair at the temples of his sideboards, skin smooth and undamaged from elements like so many hardened middle-aged locals. But this wasn’t the time for him to get lured into more affections for the man, he wanted answers.

He let out a deep sigh before running a hand through his soft hair, and spoke in only a whisper. “I’m James, James is me. I haven’t gone by that name for a very long time.” He handed the items back to John and started to shuffle out of the cramped aisle. 

“You don’t get to leave. I want answers,  _ James,” _ John mocked and grabbed hold of his bicep. The muscle was tense and thicker than he’d anticipated before he touched the near stranger. Paul’s eyes bulged wide, fire in his irises as he gripped John’s shoulder.

“Not now, not here,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I’m closing up shortly, have a seat and we’ll talk. In private.” A hushed firmness colored his voice. The voice not of a man who was angry, but whose secret had been discovered and thoughts now needed rearranging.

So John waited. He wandered through the small store but paid little attention to the stories around him. After several minutes of browsing and ignoring the chime of the register and drawing of the window shades, he stood in front of the counter, arms crossed over his chest as if he was going to beat the man into giving him the answers he seeked. Silently, Paul nodded him towards the back stairs that led up to the flat above the shop.

The rain outside fell hard again and the periwinkle of night was filtering in. John allowed himself to sit on the comfortable, velvet sofa. Waiting for Paul to get settled and join him, he heard the man begin to talk from the other room before sitting down next to him. Quite close.

It took him a few moments to get his thoughts in order as the rain pounded on the window.

“My full name is James Paul McCartney. When I knew your mother, I went by ‘James.’ A very long time ago, when she was my friend. We were more than friends…she was my confidante.”

At the confession, John’s heart was in his throat. The idea of something between them had his mind aching with internal guilt for his unnatural thoughts about Paul. Upon this initial information, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know more. 

“I’m telling you this because as her son, you should know everything about your wonderful mother.” Paul stood up, nervously walked himself over to a cabinet with liquor and poured himself a Scotch, neat. “Before I tell you the truth, I need you to promise me that what I tell you will not be shared to another living soul.” He took a large swallow of the amber liquid. His eyes looked glassy and nervous before he asked, “Can I trust you?”

Suddenly the mere idea that they had been lovers seemed small compared to what Paul was about to confide in him. 

“Of course you can trust me. I won’t tell anyone,” John said with pure honesty.

He swallowed hard as he saw Paul’s hand physically shake before he crossed back to sit on the sofa. He was nervous, the threat of danger in the information wasn’t what he expected when he unearthed the long-lost photos.

The story began with a man who owned the theatre Paul and Julia worked at together. The theatre owner had a particular… _ deviance, _ as Paul referred to it. Something that had been the end of his reputation and livelihood, as well as his ultimate death. His theatre had been an exciting atmosphere where Paul would linger around the backstage door to catch a glimpse of the performers that came and went each week. He had been enamoured with the talent of these people. Eventually, Mr. Epstein got to know Paul and offered him a job. It also helped that ‘Brian’, as Paul referred to him, was attractive and wealthy. Paul confessed without wavering to his affair with the older man, which stunned John only slightly.

“Like a naive boy, I turned a blind eye to his behaviors with the others because when we were together he promised me the world and his endless affection.” Paul swirled the drink in the tumbler, heartsick worn on his face. “I discovered quite quickly that I was one of the many young men he fraternized with.”

“Did you love him?” John asked, leaning in closer.

Pausing in thought he said, “I was enamoured with the aura of him. I thought it was love, but it was only infatuation.” He drank the remaining scotch before standing again to pour more. This time, one for John as well. 

Infatuation. Neatly inserted into Paul’s story, a similar affliction within his own mind, grinding against his skull. John drank deeply, the peaty Scotch stung all the way down as Paul kept talking.

“Some time after we got together, he was caught in a very compromising situation with another boy from the theatre, in a car near Sefton Park, and he was arrested.” Paul grimaced slightly at the plot twist, eyebrow arched.

The days following Brian’s arrest, several boys were sought out to gather evidence for the police. However, they soon discovered that after their admissions of ‘perversity' with Mr. Epstein, they themselves were being charged with deviant behaviors and ‘buggery’. It was a matter of time before they discovered Brian and Paul’s true nature. A confession of homosexuality in 1940 would have meant a number of punishments. Labor camp, medically assisted castration or death. John’s mind reeled at the idea. A young Paul in that situation was surely fraught with dread and anxiety.

“That’s when your mother stepped in. She martyred her own reputation in order to save me from the courts.” Tears welled in Paul’s eyes as he turned to look at John with the most apologetic face. “Your father had skipped town shortly after Julia became pregnant. She hadn’t told anyone, except for me, about her condition. Because of that, I knew we could trust each other. When the police found me at the theatre, ready to question me as an accessory, Julia stepped in. Convinced them it was impossible.” 

Paul smiled as he remembered her bravery.

“She told them that we were an engaged couple living together near the docks in a bedsit. She was twenty and I was eighteen then.” He exhaled and John heard the wavering in his voice. “She saved my life, John.”

His throat felt full of cement at the confession. There was no reason to doubt that she would have done that sort of thing to help a friend. That was why everyone loved her, she never worried about herself, only others.

Holding onto his line of vision, Paul finished his truth, “When the trial was occuring, my only alibi was the doctor’s note confirming Julia’s pregnancy and the word of our ‘secret engagement.’ Therefore, I couldn’t have been a homosexual like Brian and the other boys who were arrested.” He scrubbed a tired hand across his face and through his hair.

“So now you know everything. I left for London a few months later, your father came back and we all lived ‘Happily Ever After’ as the story goes.” The melancholy of it all came weighing down as his shoulders slumped. He watched Paul slink back into the sofa, while his head processed the mass of information. Paul stared blankly at the bottle of scotch, now sitting on the table in front of them.

Rather than speaking, John reached for the bottle and poured another large portion of the drink into his glass, before he added more to the tilted vessel in Paul’s hand. At the gesture, Paul reached his free hand resting at his side onto the bent knee of John’s leg. 

The same electrical bond of connectivity fused through them. The alcohol was beginning to show on Paul’s face. Flushed cheeks and glazed pupils caught off guard when John placed his own hand over the friendly touch.

“You are brave for telling me such intimate details of your life.” John’s fingers splayed out, touch moving higher up to his wrist.

A lucid smile hung on Paul’s face. “I think you of all people know what it’s like. The danger, the uncertainty.” Paul watched their hands, moving together and creating a warmth that had John radiating.

“The other night, you said, ‘We can’t’. Is it because of her? Because she’s my mum?” By now the drinks had been set aside and John entwined their fingers. They were close, bodies turned into each other. Before he could stop himself, he just said it, “Or is it Robert?” 

Paul instinctively cradled his hand against John’s face, and the tears threatened to tumble out of his eyes. “No, no of course not.” His tone was genuinely tender while John held everything together on the inside. “Robert and I never—his behavior was unacceptable, I’m embarrassed he was a guest in my home.” 

Paul’s thumb brushed over his cheekbone. “No John, it’s none of those reasons,” he went on. “I choose to remain alone because the risk is too great. After everything with Brian and your mother, I cannot comprehend the repercussions of living my true life freely.” Now he was crying, the tears slipped down his full cheeks as John rushed to wipe them away.

“Paul, I can’t fathom the fear you experienced.” Another tear tracked down his face, cradled in John’s hands. “But I also can’t imagine being alone for all this time. Without a partner to lean on in hard times.”

With a pathetic sniffle he said, “I haven’t been alone, I’ve been with women. One for a few years, but it just doesn’t feel right. Not like this.” He clasped their hands tighter until a breath trickled from his lungs. John wanted to take him in his arms and promise him that nothing would ever happen to them, but he couldn’t. Just like Paul, the uncertainty of the world outside worried him as well.

“After losing Julia, I felt so alone, but when I’m with you….” It was too much to say after all he’d heard tonight. He won’t push Paul away by pouring out his heart. This moment wasn’t about his needs or wants.

“—I feel the same John, but  _ I can’t _ . I can’t be that for you. The one you  _ need.”  _

It was a rejection, but at the same time his hands were all over him. Breaking away from the clenched hands, his strong fingers moved up John’s thighs. Tracing over his exposed forearms, his fingers wove together behind John’s neck and he pulled them closer. Their foreheads pressed together while John’s hands moved over the dark wool fabric of Paul’s trousers. It wouldn’t be right, yet the urgency in Paul’s touch had him feeling the initial twinges of arousal. 

“Let me be here as a confidante, a friend.” For his denying whispers his body said otherwise. Paul’s mouth was inches away and hungry to touch the forbidden fruit. John knew in his moment of tipsy confession it would be so easy to take advantage. Let the years of restraint snap and be the one Paul fell into bed with, only to regret and reject the moment of weakness in the morning.

So John complied. The tears of defeat didn’t sting as much as he thought they would when he pulled away. Between their mingling breaths, the air was too much for him. If he didn’t move away now, he wouldn’t at all and then he’d fuck everything up.

“Thank you for telling me everything.” he said curtly, withholding his true emotion.

Paul uttered a sob as John pulled away; he was aware that his words had completely broken John’s heart. 

Leaving the man on the couch, alone, John escaped. The numbness was familiar in his legs. This was the same feeling of loss he experienced down the aisle of the church. As he made it to the door leading out through the shop, he turned around. 

“I’ll see you around.” It was a courtesy because, after everything he’d heard tonight, John didn’t care if he ever saw the man again.

  
  



	4. You Left Me, But I Never Left You

After the night of the confession, it all changed. He still held a candle burning behind his ribcage for the affection he had for the man. Though now it was more out of pity and the idea that Paul had lived in fear. Alone for years, he’d never let the walls come down for a chance at happiness. Upon rejection, the pain had hurt, but what really was he losing? Pining for a man he knew very little about, of course it wasn’t going to end well. Although he was a dreamer, he was also a realist.

He found comfort in Thelma’s bed and her ability to not ask questions, only provide him with the physical needs he craved. He was a lousy boyfriend that she didn’t demand much of. Maybe a night out to the pictures here and there. It was all he could offer to her; she knew the extent of the relationship. 

Writing happened in a conscious stream. Sometimes he stayed awake all night, his eyes pulsing with the insomnia vapors that throb in his peripherals. Giving him delusional ideas about cellophane flowers and rocking horse people eating marshmallow pies, while he floats down a river in a newspaper taxi. He wondered if this was the madness Lovecraft succumbed to when he stopped being innovative and turned paranoid.

On certain afternoons, he’d end up in the cemetery. Lying supine in the dirt of his mother’s grave, he’d talk to her, ask her about what things looked like on the other side. He always pictured it was like getting out of a big car and stepping into another one. She never answered his questions and that made the whole ‘faith’ aspect of it all the more difficult.

He was smoking more and eating less, taking pills that kept him awake then others that knocked him out after days on end of being off his head. By the time October started, he was nearly twenty and a shadow of the man he used to be. It was a balancing act—a fine line of pretending he cared about school and his friends’ well wishes on top of his unending sense of loss. Stuart was his best mate, but even he’d grown tired of his prickly demeanor. By the time the leaves turned from red to brown, he had stopped asking him to partake in any outings. Most of the time, John would get blattered out of his mind and wreck the whole scene.

What he really wanted was to see him again. 

To just be near him. Visit his shop and talk about music and books and the weather turning colder. Quietly observe the way his reading glasses would slide down the bridge of his nose when he leaned close to John in the moments they were alone. Sometimes his feet would take him to the courtyard by the shop. He’d watch the yellow light of the store from a dark corner, smoking cigarette after cigarette. On a few occasions, Paul would be working in the front window late at night, dusting or stacking, and he would pine from afar. The pain of seeing him carry on as if nothing had changed just made the sickness in his guts worsen.

  
  


He found himself seeking out new cruising spots, on the prowl for someone that vaguely reminded him of Paul—maybe smelled like Paul—but never finding a proper substitute. Then one night, fate found him again. 

The pub was packed full, jazz quartet playing in the smoky air. A younger crowd of men and women, all in black like characters in a French film, flirted wildly amongst each other. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, scanning the space with a bottle of beer in his hand and an ache in his chest. As he stepped aside to let someone pass, his eyes froze on a bystander among the bodies, bearded and with glassy doe eyes. Although it wasn’t him, his mind blurred the logic and processed the patron as his unrequited.

Scrutinizing his body, he shoved through the horde. The added foot traffic ultimately moved them closer to one another, until he was face to face with him. It was too easy, the thrill of the chase wasn’t even there to pique his interest in the illicit act. What once was a rush had now got him stumbling over his own rules of attraction. A nod towards the loos, the burly man was giving him the ‘go ahead’ without so much as a cordial introduction. John wandered unenthusiastically towards the awaiting affection. He’d get relief tonight, in the form of a substitute.

Once inside the grotty stall the harsh light of a single bulb swung over the stocky man dropping to his knees in front of him. Upon further observation, this gentleman had no features like the ones he was craving. Biting his bottom lip in frustration, John pleaded with the light shining down on him, a prayer of forgiveness. Initial arousal vanished, the sheer magnitude of his predicament was weighing heavily on him. As the stranger began to unbuckle his belt, he pulled away.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” Climbing over the befuddled man, he darted out of the door, exiting the unfortunate scene.

Wandering through the cold city, he found himself standing in front of the one place he knew he shouldn’t be, yet he couldn’t stop himself. The lights were still on. Time had ceased to exist, and with a force he couldn’t explain he walked right through the door.

The gentle chime of bells had the ice around his heart melting away. That comforting smell of books and tobacco and what he just imagined as Paul flooded his senses. His legs felt weak in the warmth enveloping him. Months away from this place had caused more misery than he could have imagined. Just like the books on the shelves, John too fit into this atmosphere as much as Paul did. He shuffled further into the shop as he heard the faint sounds of an Elvis song crooning through the air.

“Sorry! We’re closed right now. Just working on some inventory tonight.” The voice from the back room nearly knocked the wind out of him.

As John made it to the register counter, Paul came whirling out of an aisle. Glasses crept down the bridge of his nose as he looked up from a ledger. 

“Oh—” John’s presence had startled him.

“I tried to stay away, really I did, but—” He didn’t know how to say what exactly brought him back. He was at a loss for words, something uncommon for a writer. He looked at him, pathetically pleading for an understanding that didn’t involve him confessing to how much he needed the man’s presence.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Paul now stood close, eye to eye and respectfully honest.

“It’s just, after she was gone, I went out of my mind with grief. Then you showed up by sheer coincidence and it felt easier to breathe.” John’s pulse drummed in his ears. “God, Paul, I’ve missed you and I don’t know why?” He ran a frustrated hand through his overgrown locks, tears teetering on the forefront of his face.

Paul reached out, hands pulling John’s freezing digits into his own warm palms. The connection that had always electrified them was there. Not lost in months apart, wandering aimlessly. Then Paul pulled him closer, his arms bringing John in for an embrace that felt like coming home.

“Please don’t leave again,” he whispered softly into the fine hairs at John’s temple.

At those words, John sobbed a great sigh of relief. He didn’t understand how Paul could be so forgiving to someone like him, selfishly absorbed for a brief moment in time, when he had lived decades with the weight of sorrow.

Hugging the man a little tighter, he nodded in agreement into the crook of Paul’s neck.

“Promise.”

+

That night John stayed near, not leaving until the break of dawn the next day. He didn’t need more than what Paul was offering. At this moment, companionship was what they both needed. A friendship that was agreed upon the moment they became familiar with the secret of the other. He knew what the loneliness and solitude felt like, so he came around often. 

Maybe it was more for himself—a way to be near Paul without the sudden need to be physical with him. Or perhaps he wanted to be a good friend, the way his mother would have been. Whatever it was felt different than any other connection to another person.

So in the days and weeks ahead, John was an ever-present fixture at the shop. He would stop in several times, helping Paul in any way necessary. Sometimes he’d lazily lounge in one of the antique chairs, Rufus in his lap while he used the shop as his personal library. Books of poetry and prose strewn about his ‘nest’ until the sun went down and Paul would shut up the shop. He never kicked John out; rather, feeding his body and soul with spoonfuls of motivating words and sustenance. Casual and expected, their mutual loneliness sprouted a comfortable discourse. It was shockingly domestic, the way the two interacted. While John poring over school work he was slowly catching up on, Paul would cook in the kitchen, humming songs by Rodgers & Hammerstein. They’d eat dinner on mismatched dishware, a bottle of cheap red wine split between them, followed by elbows nudging in close proximity as they soaped the plates to a sparkling shine.

One night in November, after a simple supper, Paul finished the dishes while John put on a record. The song had a Spanish guitar playing soft and melodically when Paul entered the room with an empty wine glass.

“This song brings back memories.” He smiled as he bent to refill his drink.

John studied the album cover. “Good ones, it seems.” 

“Yes, you could say so,” he said, reaching to hand the freshly filled glass to John as they held eye contact and took a sip of the dry red.

“I went to Barcelona when I was a younger man. It was an incredible experience. One that was quite eye opening, you could say.” Paul spoke with a far-away fondness in his voice.

John was eager to know more.

“Did you go there alone?”

Swallowing hard, Paul sat down on the settee, legs crossing in a smooth, practiced motion.

“I was a guest of Brian’s. The—er, the man I told you of. That was in the short time I felt like I was his world. The lavish gifts he bought me, the getaways in private. He really had me convinced I was his one and only….” 

When he faltered in his confident retelling, John sat down next to him and, without thinking, placed his palm over the knee of Paul’s crossed leg.

“You were young, empty promises fill your head when you’re gullible.” He didn’t know where this wisdom was coming from. He sensed he was self-fulfilling his own missteps. Paul knew he was in over his head as he took a deep drink and chuckled.

“That’s astute, considering your age.” He gave a wink, cheeky and flirtatious.

For a moment, he forgot to breathe, before he abruptly moved his hand from Paul’s leg.

“What did you do while you were there?” He looked to his lap, suddenly aware of the scenario he had put himself in.

Paul relaxed into the cushions, legs unfolding and ready to spill details.

“Would you really care to know?” Paul reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a cigarette case, placing two tightly into the plush of his lips. Lighting them both, he placed the moistened fag into John’s mouth. The warmth of his fingers brushed over his cheek momentarily. He couldn’t be certain, but the wine was making Paul a bit looser with his gestures and the amount of information he was sharing. John did want to know, more than anything.

They smoked in silence for a few moments, letting the song fill the room.

“We would sit at cafés inTorremolinos, watching the pretty sun-tanned boys. Drinking espressos as thick as mud.” He exhaled as he reminisced; his eyes studied John, as if his mind was pondering what all of that meant. “You know, sometimes another lad would join us.” 

His hands felt clammy as they held the glass of wine and nearly burnt cigarette. John knew he shouldn’t ask, but the rational part of his brain couldn’t seem to stay quiet.

“Do you mean—?”

“Yes, John. We would fuck strangers we picked up. In our pure marble white hotel suite.” The words bit at him. He’d never heard Paul speak this way before; it was maliciously tantalizing and out of character.

“That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?” Eyebrow arched, challenging him. “Not about the bullfights or the delicious Tapas and wine. You want me to tell you, don’t you?”

For all of John’s cocksure presence, Paul could see him for what he was: a virgin in the ways of lying with a man.

“You want to know what it feels like to be fucked by attractive men.” Now Paul was staring right at him, gaze unwavering as he reached for the bottle on the table to pour more into their glasses. Something frustrated on his face, yet casual as he still made John feel welcomed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” The sheepish way he avoided Paul’s face was a bold-faced lie and he wasn’t buying it.

“Have I shocked the unshockable? You really can’t be surprised at my honesty.” He chuckled to himself lightly as he slugged back the rest of the wine in his cup. 

Suddenly John felt uncomfortable, like something erratic could come out of Paul. He stood up, putting the butt in the ashtray.

“Supposed to meet Stu at The Grapes an—”

“John, don’t—” He stood to meet him before he could exit towards the door. His hand cupped his shoulder, the heat radiating through his thick jumper. When John turned, the man looked vulnerable and lost, yet so soft and handsome that John could hardly control his touch-starved body.

“Forgive me, I’ve been crass. You don’t need to know about it. The pleasure is not worth the risk.” The hand on his shoulder pulled away and raked slender fingers through his dark locks, peppered at the temples with wisps of gray. Paul was actually disregarding his feelings—his bared soul flayed open and shut down.

“I asked you because I want to know what it feels like, what having that with someone you care about is like,” John explained, eyes closing to reiterate what he meant. “I don’t plan on being alone like this.” He gestured to the clutter of books and papers strewn about. 

“Stop telling me what you think is best for me!” The outburst shook him as he gave John his full attention. 

John's life had been in a fog since Julia’s death. Drowned in drink and fights and meaningless sex while trying to hide away from the truth. The truth being that through it all the only time he’d felt worth anything had been with Paul. He’d sat for months listening to every ounce of wisdom that Paul had shared with him. The nights of contemplation over books and art. The mornings of tea in the store before his calligraphy class. Each interaction between them, each confession of self pity and insecurity, had led him here.

“Christ, Paul, since we met, you’ve been telling me to be careful, ‘don’t get caught up in anything.’ When really, it’s you. It’s you who’s too cautious. You’re afraid, Paul.” John gestured in a frustrated manner at his downturned face.

“You’re afraid of me, of what I could mean to you.” A sting of tears started to blur in his periphery. “The way you make it sound like a death sentence for anyone who could find uncommon love. I’m terrified of what the world will hold for me.” 

“Why are you saying this?” Paul’s eyes wandered anywhere but to John’s line of vision, because he knew what John was saying was the truth.

“Because you need to hear this. Don’t be afraid anymore, it’s not like how you remember. There are places where it’s ok, where it’s safe to be ourselves.” John reached out to hold onto the shoulder of the fragile man.

“I’m here with you and I’m not going to hurt you.” 

At John’s words, Paul broke down, clutching at him in any way he could get the stability he needed to stay upright. John held him tight, letting the emotion wrack through him. He didn’t know what more he could do for the man in his breakdown, but he wanted to be that caring touch Paul needed. 

More moments passed as they hugged, John’s hands tracing over the tense muscles of Paul’s shoulder blades. The gruff purr of Rufus wrapping around their legs caused them to separate.

“Thank you for saying it.” Paul’s red, puffy eyes were exhausted. John could see the man needed rest. He wasn’t about to leave Paul in his vulnerable state, tonight he’d stay as close as he was welcomed.

“Let’s get you to bed.” 

John took his hand and led them to the bedroom. That night, John gave Paul everything he needed. What he needed just happened to be a warm body to hold him until the first morning light, which John was more than happy to provide.

  
  


+

The end of term was approaching, which meant the bustle of students in and out of the shop had waned. John was hunched over his notebook, adding to a piece that had been racking his brain for days. He wasn’t sure what to call it. A poem? A song? A sonnet? Whatever the thing was, it was about Paul, but he dare not share it.

While he couldn’t speculate, he thought that something had broken open between them after the night with the revelations about Spain. Small steps had been made; Paul touched him more. Perhaps out of reassuring curiosity that he wouldn’t be harmed by John. He couldn’t get distracted by the possibilities that could eventually come. So he remained his friend, his confidant.

Breaking his reverie, Stuart plopped down at the table he’d been occupying for a significant amount of time. “Oi, Lennon. Where have you been? Seems like ages since I’ve seen ye.”

“Yer daft, mate, I live with you. Or did you forget? All those nights you’ve been out with that German photography student.” John smiled up at his friend.

“Suppose you’re right, she had been taking up quite a bit of my time.” When Stuart grinned at him, John knew there were no real hard feelings about his distance. Besides, he had the impression that Stuart knew John had been hanging out at the store a lot lately. Paul had mentioned it during the nights he stayed over, writing late on the old typewriter in Paul’s study, while the man himself read with Rufus content in his lap.

“So, did you want to go to the pictures with us tomorrow? The Rivoli is playing Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, y’know, that old arty film?”

“Yeah, could do.” He wanted to ask Paul but knew what he would say. It would be too familiar, like a date.

“Right-o, McCartney is coming along. Should be a few others too. Starts at eight, see ye then?” Before John could reply, he was already standing back up to knot his scarf before heading out into the cold December evening. 

John suppressed a grin. “Sure, yeah, see ye.”

Taking his empty tea cup into the back storage closet, he clumsily bumped into Paul. 

“Oh, sorry, mate, didn’t know you were in here.” John’s cheeks were still a little flushed with the idea that tomorrow night he and Paul would be out at the pictures together. He suppressed another urge to smile.

“Say, John?” Paul looked nervous, awkwardly wringing his hands before he willed them to his sides.

“Hm?” John gave him his undivided attention.

“There’s a film playing tomorrow night. I thought you might want to go with me?” His eyes looked down at his feet; the innocence of the invitation was endearing.

John’s heart felt like it was growing faster than his mind could comprehend how to process the invitation. The wide smile plastered across his face bordered on painful with the realization of his words.

“Yes, absolutely. I’d love to,” John agreed, and nodded enthusiastically, so there was no doubt in Paul’s mind.

He breathed a sigh of relief, eyes meeting John’s. “Can I take you to dinner before the show?” 

“I’d like that very much.” He couldn’t believe what was happening, what Paul was asking of him. Now Paul was the one smiling, cheeks blushing as he stepped a little closer to take the tea mug from John’s hand, fingers brushing softly over his.

“Alright then. It’s a date.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....Now things really start to get moving.....Sorry! You'll have to wait until the next update :P
> 
> Thanks for Reading xoxo


	5. So I Sing the Song of Love

The exterior of the building was unassuming as he walked into the warm corridor and up the marble steps. Worn in the middle, as the decades of feet eroded the path leading up to the mysterious cafe. He was greeted by a slender young woman, dressed in traditional style silk robes. The ornate fixtures and wall hanging transported him to another time. The spicy aroma of foreign delicacies hung in the hazy yellow air. Red lacquered screens etched with figures and scenic scapes had him distracted to what the young lady was asking him.

“Table for one?”

“No, actually, I’m meeting someone. Perhaps he’s already here, McCartney is his name.” John smiled at her, eyes alight with the prospects of the evening.

“Yes sir, he has already arrived. I’ll show you to his table.” 

John followed her through a maze of dark, narrow halls. He could hear the loud clanging of pots and pans among the boisterous laughs of the private dining booths. Each corner held a private enclave of parties, while serving staff bustled in and out of sliding pocket doors. The space was fascinating; he’d had no idea such a place existed in Liverpool.

The tiny woman knocked before he heard the muffled voice of Paul behind the heavy doors that were being rolled open.

“Hello, Mr. Lennon, so glad you could join me this evening.” Paul stood up, wearing a sharp suit as he greeted John with a smirk of restrained excitement. Upon walking into the low ceilinged alcove, John took a seat on the circular cushioned booth. The host left them alone as she closed the heavy doors.

Paul slid in closer so their knees were touching. He smelled good. Earthy and sweet as he fumbled with the napkin, placing it back into his lap. After he messed about, he turned and looked at John.

His smile widened, causing John’s stomach to flutter a bit. “I’m glad you’re here, that we were able to do this.”

“I don’t know if this is considered an out in the open ‘date’, but I get the idea.” John teasingly looked around the discreet booth, ducking his head around a bit silly, which made Paul laugh slightly.

“You have to understand, this is all new to me. It’ll take me some time to be comfortable, but I’m pleased you are here.” Paul’s hand moved over to John’s knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I wanted to impress you.” 

When John turned to look at him, he moved forward to place a chaste peck to John’s cheek. The gesture felt old-fashioned, but the friction from late afternoon stubble brushed over John as he inhaled at the pheromones Paul was radiating. He must have seen the sudden blush on John’s face because he moved farther apart, giving them ample space.

Changing the subject, Paul began, “You know, most of this part of town was destroyed during the war.” He took a sip of water from his glass, needing something to cool down the conversation. “When I was a kid, this was a known opium den and brothel to the men who worked near the docks. My mates and I convinced the old owner to sell us some, to smoke in my dad's pipe.” 

He spoke in a way that suggested it was a recent memory. “It wasn’t worth a damn, mostly some dried tea that turned our teeth black and made us cough.” He gave John a cheeky wink and laughed at the idiotic story. “Alas, that was the type of thing us naughty boys got into.” 

“I never knew this place existed. Seems there could be secretive activities hiding behind the doors.” John raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Imagine the things one could get up to in here?” 

The touch of Paul’s lips on his face only ignited the possibilities. He turned and peered lustfully into Paul’s eyes before a knock was at the door and people were filling in with trays of drinks and small dishes of food.

They ate the tasty dumplings and drank the strong pear wine that bubbled in John’s nose. Perhaps it was the exotic atmosphere—or the handsome man next to him—regardless, John was feeling euphorically good. So good that after the main plates of food arrived, and they were once again alone in the dining booth, he silently made a move.

His fingers slid under the starched napkin in Paul’s lap, brushing high enough to feel the juncture of thigh and groin. Paul turned to him with a look of mischief, eyebrow arched as John lazily relaxed his back and shoulders against the silk cushions. Eyes half lidded from the aphrodisiac wine, he gave a grin as his hand splayed out.

“Eager, aren’t you?” Paul asked, slinking lower, spreading his pelvis wider, and drinking another sip out of his glass.

“I should think we both are.” John slid closer so their hips touched. Paul set down his drink, then he looked down at the proximity of John’s hand to the zipper of his trousers and covered his cool palm over it.

“You have beautiful hands, y’know. They’re something that first captured my attention about you.” At the mention, Paul pressed them over the curve of his thigh. “Many nights I pictured how it would’ve felt.” His voice whispered as it got closer to John’s ear, “Your—your hands on my skin…touching me...” There was a tremble in his voice as John exhaled a soft breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He was delicate with the ministrations of his hands so as not to be too forward. John licked his lips and let his head loll back, exposing his neck to the heat of Paul’s breath. He dared not open his eyes, for fear the fantasy would dissipate. But he felt the wet plush of Paul’s lower lip graze over his beating pulse point.

“Patience is a virtue, dear boy,” he spoke into the paper-thin skin; achingly aroused, John breathed heavily at the whispered touches to his skin. Still in bliss, Paul pressed John’s hand down harder, letting him feel the firm heat straining in his napkin covered lap. 

“Not here. This isn’t the right place, but I do want you. Want to touch you.” He said the words with reassurance, making himself believe that it was the appropriate choice in the circumstances. He smiled at John and began to pull away.

Before he completely removed their contact, John ran his freed fingers through the soft, graphite locks of his hair. “I want you, Paul. I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.” The words escaped in a tender voice, before he leaned in and brushed his mouth against the corner of Paul’s mouth. 

With lust-filled confidence, Paul’s shivered breath asked, “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“I’d like that very much, actually.” He accepted the invitation with a flutter in his chest and a chaste kiss to Paul’s lips.

The remainder of dinner was pleasantly subdued. Slow and savouring of the Far East delicacies while they laughed and stole touches in between bites of the unique foods. Paul’s hand remained a permanent fixture caressing John’s thigh. Perhaps out of a sense of protection to the man at his side. As the staff cleared the plates away, he paid the ticket so they could be on their way to meet the others at the theatre.

A small dish was set down at the end of the table that held two oddly folded biscuits.

“Go on, take one. See what your fortune says.” Paul delved in and began to bite at the crispy treat. John had never seen this dessert custom before, but he followed suit and broke his open to read aloud the words typed onto the small paper scroll.

_ “‘You will find happiness with a new love.’”  _ John scrunched his nose in disapproval at the daft words before popping the treat into his mouth and chomping loudly.

“Lucky you!” Paul leaned in closer to peer at the small printed paper.

“You didn’t share what yours said,” John teased as he swallowed the bite, making a swipe at the cookie in Paul’s hand. Just before he could grab hold, Paul came down upon his mouth and kissed him. In that stunned moment, John felt he was born to be kissed by this man for the rest of his life. The familiar electricity that had flowed through them would be just as powerful in all of the physical ways they could have each other. His heart thrummed in his chest, the adrenaline from affection coursed through his veins. 

Paul pulled away, the soft click echoed from their mouths separating. He then brushed the tips of their noses before gently kissing John’s upper lip again, making him fall further into dizzying bliss.

“It said, ‘ _ A beautiful soul will heal your heart and share your bed for many years to come. _ ’” 

John’s eyes searched over his face with a skeptical grin, but couldn’t find a reason to dispute the fortune. 

“C’mon, we’re going to be late.”

  
  


+

  
  
  


“Hey, there you two are?! It’s getting pretty full in there, yer late!” Stuart stood outside smoking under the flashing lights of the marquee. They were cutting it close. The restaurant wasn’t far, but they had managed to take a longer route to steal quick pecks to each other’s cheeks in the chilly night air. 

The knock of their elbows in their wool coats made John feel drunk, just not in the way Stuart would assume. Paul was quick on spinning an excuse.

“All my fault, Mr. Sutcliffe. I was at the pub and John joined me for a few pints. I’m a terrible influence!” He exaggeratedly flung his arm across John’s shoulder. Playing along, John gave a loud laugh into his sideboard, and Paul laughed right along in a genuine fashion.

They hurried into the darkness of the theatre, bodies mostly filling the rows of seats. About midway back, the small group of students turned to acknowledge their tadry presence. The lights dimmed as John plopped down into one of the last seats in the crowded row.

Faffing around a bit, Paul removed his heavy coat, placing it in his lap as his eyes focused on the screen. John straightened his glasses and looked around to observe the extras in their party. Mostly photography students that Stuart knew; John doubted he needed to provide half arsed introductions.

It wasn’t long into the classic film when he felt the warm touch creep over his lap.

Not to stir, he glanced over to see the preoccupied face of Paul staring at the crackling celluloid on the screen in front of him. With the cover of the bulky coat, John’s hand slid into place over the lap of the focused man at his side.

Paul was deliciously hard. The small kisses back at the restaurant were fresh in John’s mind and obviously causing distraction to Paul as well. Though never giving away evidence of his current state, John’s fingernails brushed over the prominent strain in his trousers. 

They both kept their faces forward, pretending to be absorbed in the art of the film. When really Paul’s fingers danced lightly over the delicate head of John’s prick. He’d let out a heavy exhale, though no one seemed to notice as the score music escalated. In return, he cupped his hand further, the definition of Paul’s seemingly thick shaft cradled in his palm. There was no way he’d last another two hours in here with these wild touches.

His brow beaded with perspiration as he snuck a glance over his shoulder. As if the film was the most interesting piece of work created, Paul kept looking ahead. The index finger of his right hand was tracing over his lips in concentration; he adjusted slightly as John’s thumb brushed over the defined tip of his cock. He wasn’t certain, but the heat of his thumbpad felt a dampness on the trousers, just like the glistening saliva on the man’s lips. He had licked them in the same beat as his secretly hidden fingers traced the cool copper zipper of John’s denim under the wool coat.

Doing this in the middle of a theatre was the exact opposite of cautious, but as the flush of arousal kept creeping up his neck, John couldn’t have cared less. 

It continued like that for what seemed like hours. The heat of their palms groping until the tightening of impending climax in their veins was ready to burst. Then one of them would pull away, controlling the situation. John’s arousal waxed and waned with the heightened tingling up and down his spine. Paul never gave anything away. At one point his eyes closed as John cupped his hand around his full and heavy balls. The moments ticked away at an antagonizing pace. He didn’t even care what the film was about. When the credits began to roll, the two of them shuffled in their seats, mentally willing away the half hard cocks in their too-confined trousers. 

“We’re going to a new pub. It’s by Gambier, you two in?” Stuart asked as the group shuffled out into the lobby. 

“Nah, I’m knackered, supposed to finish up this project I fell behind on in Lit. Said I’d get it turned in before Crimble.” The lie left his lips effortlessly. At this point he would have feigned a ruptured appendix to get out of there and into Paul’s bed.

Speaking of, the charming man was chatting with the others in the group. When they all arrived outside, a pretty shower of giant, white snowflakes had begun to fall. Paul looked over at John with a significant rose to his cheeks. “Well, thanks for the invitation Stuart, that was great! I hadn’t ever seen it before.”

Damn if John wasn’t smitten.

“Right then, well Lennon’s dipping out on after-picture pints. You in, Paul?” Stuart asked as the pixie-haired blonde wrapped her arms around his waist, smiling up at the two of them.

“No thanks, I have a breakfast appointment in the morning, but you kids have fun.” He smiled and waved as he began to walk towards the nearby bus stop, pretending to leave John behind.

“Oy, hang on, Paul! I left me bag at the shop!” John hastily waved at Stu as he jogged hurriedly to catch up in the slick snow sticking to the pavement. “Ta-ra, friends, see you later.” 

Once the group dissipated, they stood in silence as the crisp air surrounded them. A bus came along minutes later to lead them back to where they’d be alone, together. The two of them settled on the top tier of the bus. The night time fluorescents flickered, starkly keeping them separate, though side by side. 

“Breakfast appointment, eh?” John nudged at Paul’s elbow. 

He bit his lip and smiled at the gloved hands in his lap. “Well, I had planned on making breakfast for you tomorrow. They didn’t need to know further details.” He turned, his nose nearly brushing John’s cheek.

“Those details would be…?”

“In bed and clothing optional.” 

+

The crispness of the freshly fallen snow in the courtyard crunched under their feet. At some point in their walk through the quiet space, Paul took his hand. Leading John to the door of his home, to his bed where he’d stay. If he didn’t know anything else, he knew that in the next hours they would be together in a way they never had been before. His heart was beating loudly in his ears with the impending anticipation.

It was so much quieter in the shop with the blanketed powder outside; something about the silence made the setting more arousing. The slightest sounds of fabric rustling, wet shoes clicking across the floor, this was the place where it happened. When John fell for Paul.

He had followed him inside the door, never letting go of his hand when the lock was turned and their eyes adjusted to the faint illumination through the windows. John stopped him and pulled him closer.

There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in Paul’s mouth as his cold lips closed over John’s. They kissed languidly, no rush to what was coming. They’d teetered on this the entire night, and now was the time to enjoy everything.

“God, you’re beautiful,” John panted out, arms slipping out of the weight of the damp wool jacket, dropping to the floor with a gentle thud.

Paul kissed him harder, a moan of gratitude as they moved further into the shop. He too shedded his coat like a skin, becoming anew in John’s arms. Their bodies fit together so easily, it was as if they’d been lovers in another life. Their belt buckles connected, the gentle clink of metal loud in their ears. By now his ungloved hands cradled John’s face as his back pressed against the solid wood bookcase. “What do you want?” Paul’s hushed tone was gritty, asking but demanding, and it made his legs shaky.

“Everything, all of you.”

The verbal confession ignited the fire in his gut while the kiss grew erotic. John’s fingers dipped into the waistband of the tailored trousers, tips dragging across the thick curls while his thumb unbuckled the rest. Paul panted into John’s mouth, a shock of desire rushing through him. “Let me taste you.” He licked at Paul’s upper lip, the need to fill his mouth was pulling him slowly to his knees.

Paul braced himself against the shelf and watched John lower himself. Those beautiful hands trailed slowly down the backs of his legs, and all the while John’s amber eyes never lost sight of him. 

“You’re all I think about,” Paul confessed as John’s thin ivory fingers disappeared into the fabric of his trousers. Peering up at the aroused man, he whispered across the pink head of Paul’s glistening cock, “I’m yours...” 

+

Upstairs, in a much more private setting, all of their layers had been discarded and now Paul’s mouth was worshipping every inch of John. Tongue flicking over the rosy flesh of his nipple, he let out a contented hum as his mouth moved lower. A record spun in the background of John’s mind while plump lips grooved in the pale valley of his ribcage. 

“Your mouth was so good to me, my heart nearly gave out y’know,” Paul mumbled as he nestled between John’s naked spread. 

John sighed at the compliment while Paul lifted his leg over his shoulder, biting teasingly at his muscled inner thigh. “Please, Paul…,” he moaned out, his arousal bordering on painful after the hours leading up to this moment. Paul’s nimble fingers brushed over the leaking head before his open mouth kissed hotly over the thick vein of his cock, then engulfed him deeply.

“Oh God, yes!” John’s fingers gripped at the bedsheets while he moaned to the heavens as though he was seeing the pure light of the omnipotent. It roared through him in seconds, never before had his climax overwhelmed him with so little. Toes curling and hands threading through the lust-dampened locks of his lover, John’s emotional synapses fired through every appendage.

Paul crawled higher up his body, leaving wet kisses over every freckle that thobbed on his vibrating skin. “You taste divine, Luv,” he whispered into John’s neck as he curled in closer, resting his head on John’s flexing shoulder. The blissful comfort of being held was all that he wanted in the afterglow. 

“Hmmm, want to stay like this, forever.” John pulled him closer as he said it, turning so their legs tangled. Paul pulled the chilled duvet up and over their relaxed bodies. 

“I do want ‘forever’ with you, John.” He lifted onto his elbow to peer down into John’s moonlit face. “You were right before. I was scared of what you meant to me.” He hung his head in a small, insecure gesture. “No more hiding away. What we have, it’s what I want.” His eyes were honest but not desperate like before. Now, he had the confidence he had been missing; John couldn’t help but think he had contributed to it.

He held his face and pulled him in for a confirming kiss laced with affection. “Forever sounds alright with me.” 

+

Light hadn’t broken yet. The purple hues of twilight bled into the room, hushed in the insulated snow on the rooftops. In his sleep-blurred head, the body pressing against him was getting warmed up by administering kisses to his neck and shoulder. The forearm across his torso pulled him into the pelvic curve of Paul, morning’s arousal pressing into the cleft of his arse.

John was wide awake now. His own cock stirred at the prospect of where the touches over his body would lead. He reached his bicep around to keep the hungry lips at his alert skin.

“Morning then.” John’s voice was dream-heavy and lust filled. Paul’s hand traced down his outstretched torso, his fingers slipping between their pressed bodies as they grazed over his tight entrance. The touch caused him to arch back and hiss with unexpected pleasure at the sensation. Paul didn’t let up the gentle rubs to the fluttering flesh as he kissed John with passion.

“Do you still want ‘everything’?” He asked him with panting words meaning more than just the act of what they were about to partake in. In the light of the morning, was this what John still wanted? Were there regrets in his mind to what their relationship would be, now that this was happening?

“Only with you.” With his consenting words, Paul kissed him deeply, smiling with happiness as they made love. He was tender and attentive to the nerves that shivered over John at his inexperience. It was a strange feeling, how pure love could radiate through one's body as it fills into another being. The pleasurable pain felt tangible and real as he opened his heart and body to Paul. Completely in tune, the ever-present energy flowed between them as they loved gently and passionately until the sun rose over the skyline. 

Lying pressed against the alabaster skin of Paul’s chest, the beating murmur of his heart soothed his mind of all the possibilities that awaited them. In this moment, John felt loved and safe more so than he’d ever been. The man in his arms being the muse, providing him with inspiration and guidance. Bubbling up through him, the emotions threatened to spill over onto the man who had ‘saved’ him, in all sense of the word.

“Are you hungry?” Paul’s skilled fingers threaded through his messy, corkscrew curls, playing with the soft auburn glowing in the sunlight.

“Hm, yes, but let’s stay here a bit longer,” John said with a contented hum while he cuddled closer, not wanting to break their connection.

They ended up falling back asleep until a much more reasonable hour when Rufus jumped into the bed demanding his own breakfast. Together they ate a light breakfast of tea and toast. Smatterings of kisses and touches were exchanged between bites and sips. And afterwards, a long, hot shower together. 

Afternoon had settled into the cozy sunlit space of the flat. John typed away words at the old typewriter while Paul sorted and organized books on his shelves. They’d settled into a comfortable arrangement of silence as the two of them merely enjoyed the other’s presence.

“Do you like traveling?” Paul asked him as he set an old 78 on the turntable, crackling a piano concerto into the space.

John removed his glasses and stretched his sore body from its hunch over the desk. “I haven’t done much, but yeah, I enjoy it. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I might have to do some inventory purchases in the upcoming months.” He continued to sort through the books distractedly. John took the opportunity to stand up and move over to the man. Arms wrapping around his narrow waist, startling him with the heavy book in his hand. John pressed his nose into the fresh skin above his collarbone and kissed lightly.

“I supposed a trip to the bedroom isn’t as appealing as a holiday to a foreign land?” Paul set down the book and turned to kiss him, lips nipping deliciously at John’s mouth. “I’ll take that trip with you, Luv.” 

He took John’s hands and led them to the comfortable bed for another session of toe-curling bliss.

+

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the long awaited update to this story!
> 
> There will be one more chapter (...maybe an epilogue) after this to wrap it all up. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's reading, your support and positive comments have been very helpful xo

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos always appreciated. 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr if you want to connect...
> 
> [@smothermeinrelish](https://smothermeinrelish.tumblr.com)
> 
> [You Gave Me The Word: Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5KbQ4tebFWOlwqWDJ9BUOp?si=V5WUsArORkijbgnm8Is0EQ)
> 
> Thanks for reading xo


End file.
